Medicine
by Laughable Breakdowns
Summary: Sherlock falls off the deep end and - after three months of relapse - OD's on cocaine. John visits him in the hospital. This fanfic is based off of the song 'Medicine' by the band Daughter - Oneshot!


**Medicine**

John sat in the quiet waiting room of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. The air was stale and still, smelling like disinfectant and, faintly, of vomit. He had his head in his hands, tapping his right foot; a nervous habit.

Sherlock had been rushed to the hospital just four days ago, after he was found laying in the gutter, barely alive. His pulse was weak and his body temperature was near steaming. It was found that he had overdosed on cocaine.

Sherlock had been having quite a hard time. Three months prior he had lapsed back into his bad habit, coming home high as a kite, his pupils blown big enough to cover almost all of his grey-blue irises. He was shaky and twitchy and paranoid, but clearer than John would have expected someone in his situation to be. Then again, he _was_ Sherlock.

John had sat with his flat-mate, waiting out his high and then nursing him through his crash. John had told Sherlock that he would move out if he came home high again.

But Sherlock did. Six more times, in fact. He would be fine for a week or so, but then he would go back to the drug. He needed it, he said. It gave him clarity, helped him think. Out of some sick loyalty John didn't called Lestrade or Mycroft (somehow Sherlock escaped his brother's survellience)…and he stayed. Each time he begged Sherlock to promise that it would be the last time. It wasn't.

Then, Sherlock disappeared. Vanished. Completely off the radar; the police couldn't find him, nor could Mycroft, and John was beside himself with worry and fear. What if he had been kidnapped? What if he had been run over or injured or blown up? He didn't eat, barely slept. It was his fault, John thought. But of course it wasn't. Drug addicts were manipulative prats…and John loved one.

It took a week for Mycroft's people to track Sherlock down. By the time he was retrieved it was nearly too late.

"John Watson?"

John looked up, blinking at the nurse who had roused him from his thoughts. "Yes?"

"Mr. Holmes is awake and ready to see you now."

John followed the nurse, barely registering his feet against the cold tile floor. His heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel bile rising in his throat. He swallowed hard.

When he reached Sherlock's room, he barely recognized the man inside. Sherlock was lying in bed, his skin practically blending in with the stark white sheets. His hospital gown was clinging to his thin form – no longer elegant but only skin and bone, like death. The dark circles under his eyes were purple, his lips were chapped, and his eyes were closed.

"Sherlock?" John asked, clearing his throat.

His friend's eyes snapped open and John sighed in relief when he saw the cool, clear eyes, deducing everything that John had felt in the past week and a half.

"Hello, John." Sherlock's voice was raspy and quiet. "The worst of the withdrawals are over now, as you can see. Now it's just this…craving. My body will soon become accustomed to sobriety, I suppose."

John opened his mouth, then shut it again. He walked over to Sherlock's hospital bed and sat down slowly, cautiously, on the edge.

"You…" John began, "you were gone for a week."

Sherlock looked at him searchingly, and John noticed that his hair needed a wash. "Yes."

"I was…it was…Mycroft couldn't find you. He was worried."

Sherlock smirked, although it came across more like a grimace. "I am aware. He was here earlier."

John felt his eyes beginning to tear up and he forced himself to focus on the colourful tissuebox beside the bed. It's was pink and lime-green and it looked absolutely ridiculous. "Oh," he said stupidly.

"Yes. Oh indeed."

In a sudden fit of emotion John snapped his head up to look at Sherlock, slamming his fist against the hard mattress. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS SHERLOCK! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?! You- it's not…" he fell quiet, looking down.

"Yes, John?" John felt Sherlock's thin hand come to rest on his shoulder. He swallowed hard.

"It's not…you might've been alone when you started this…when you felt like you had to – to do this the first time, you might've felt like that, however many years ago…"

"…But?" Sherlock's voice sounded strangled, and John looked over to see that the man – his best friend – had tears in his eyes.

"But…" John looked down for a moment before continuing. "But you're not alone now, you git. You've got me, and – and Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade and Molly and…hell, even bloody Mycroft. You've got us. And having friends means…I mean…you can't do this to us. I…please."

Sherlock was looking down. His left hand had left John's shoulder and both hands were now steepled under his chin.

"You're a great man, Sherlock Holmes," John continued. "You're a good man. You're my best friend…you…you have to stop this, now. I can't…you're my best friend."

John pressed his fist to his mouth, telling himself that he would not cry, he _would not cry_.

Sherlock gave John a small smile. "Sentiment is weakness, John."

John took a deep breath. "Then sod it all, I'm weak. I'll be the first to admit it."

Sherlock lower his eyes, lips parted. He thought for a second. Then, in the smallest of voices he murmured "I will. Stay clean, I mean, I will."

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You said that the last time. And the last time…and the last time."

Sherlock looked at him, eyes narrowed. "I promise. I will; you have my word."

John looked at him hard, and seeing the intensity in his friend's eyes, smiled softly. "I'll hold you to that."

Sherlock nodded. "Good." Then he paused. "Will you…will you stay for a while? I get so…" he licked his lips, breathing deeply before starting again. "I get so _bored_ in here. Will you stay?"

John nodded. "Yes, of course."

And he did.

**A/N: This fanfic was based off of the song 'Medicine' by Daughter. It's a brilliant song; you should go listen to it. **


End file.
